He held his courts under the sky. They were on the broad summit of the hill above the town, high up and exposed to a rough north wind. The clouds were moving fast and the surface of the lake was a heavy grey. The eastern shore, the heart of the Kingdom, was just a dark, featureless line on the edge of sight. The breeze rushed in the branches of a wood and stroked the grasses silver. There had been one rain shower already this morning. There would be more. Padry had seen at least two big buildings in Aclete, the town at the bottom of the hill. Either of those would have had enough room for at least the immediate protagonists in each case. All the rest of this crowd could have waited their turn in other rooms, or huddled for shelter against the wall outside. Padry knew many a baron who preferred to sit in judgement under a roof. But here in Tarceny, it seemed, justice must be heard by everyone. Nevertheless, Padry was grateful for the weather. The big breeze was the perfect antidote for the shadows in his mind – the nightmare memories of the place of brown rocks, which had pursued him in his sleep and still lingered in the corners of his brain.
